


perfectly lovely

by bluejayblueskies



Series: guiltless [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (as in they're in document storage but the door is locked), Ace Flavor: Sex Neutral, Asexual Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Blow Jobs, Canon Asexual Character, Declarations Of Love, Hand Jobs, Hispanic Tim, Internalized Acephobia, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, but just a bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:48:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26177485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluejayblueskies/pseuds/bluejayblueskies
Summary: Tim leaves a trail of bitten, reddening marks down the side of Jon’s neck and under the collar of his shirt, now unbuttoned and half-hanging off his arms. It’s a lot, and it overwhelms Jon’s senses, and it’s so nice.Maybe it would be nice, he’d thought as he’d gotten off the tube with Tim a few months after that initial conversation and they’d begun to make their way back to his house. Doing… more than kissing.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker
Series: guiltless [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1906735
Comments: 6
Kudos: 122





	perfectly lovely

**Author's Note:**

> Finally decided to take the plunge and write an explicit fic! Ft. me projecting my own asexual experiences on Jon.

It’s not really appropriate, Jon thinks, as Tim backs him up against the wall in document storage and kisses him soundly. Maybe it had been, back in Research, when it had been half-assed hand jobs after work when the both of them were stressed and tired, or stolen kisses in the break room when they thought no one was looking, but now Jon is Tim’s boss. It’s really not—

Tim’s leg presses firmly between Jon’s, and the line of thought is cut off abruptly as Jon gasps into Tim’s mouth.

“I’m not really… _keen_ on sex,” Jon had said, when Tim had first sat on his desk in Research and said, like it was the easiest thing in the world, “Want to come back to my place today?” Tim didn’t say anything, so Jon had continued, haltingly, “I- that’s not to say that I _don’t_ , entirely, but that it- it’s not something I really think about. I- I don’t feel any sort of sexual attraction toward you.”

“Oh,” Tim said, and it wasn’t an _oh_ of disappointment or an _oh_ of understanding. More like an _oh_ of curiosity. So Jon elaborated.

“But I- I don’t feel sexual attraction toward anyone. I enjoy, ah. Being around you.”

Tim’s hand slid into Jon’s, his fingers tickling the inside of Jon’s wrist, and a small shiver ran through Jon at the contact. “I just don’t want you to- to expect something that I might not be able to give you,” he said quietly. He tried to ignore the small voice in the back of his mind that whispered that it wasn’t enough—that he wasn’t enough. That Tim was someone who gave his love so freely, but not someone who fell _in_ love as quickly, and that Jon was somehow rejecting that affection by being unable to reciprocate an aspect of it that he just couldn’t feel, no matter how hard he tried.

“Jon,” Tim said softly, and a hand came up to cup Jon’s cheek, turning his head slightly so their eyes met, dark brown on hazel. “I enjoy being around you, too. For _you._ I’m sorry if I put you on the spot.”

Something warm and weighted settled in Jon’s chest, and he leaned into Tim’s hand slightly. Touch had always been nice. Especially with Tim. “No, it’s- it’s fine. I just think—“ He took a deep breath. “I just felt like it wouldn’t be fair not to tell you.”

“Yeah,” Tim said, and he lifted Jon’s hand to press a soft kiss to the knuckles. “I’m glad you did.”

“Okay?” Tim says now, the pressure in between Jon’s legs lessening slightly, and Jon manages a nod. Tim presses a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Verbal confirmation, please.”

“Yeah,” Jon says, and he’s embarrassed at how _breathy_ it sounds.

“Okay,” Tim says again, and a hand comes up to Jon’s neck, fingers threading through the loose curls that pool there. Jon’s eyes dart to the door—thick enough that no one walking by will hear them, but still a flimsy barrier between them and the rest of the Archives—and Tim follows his gaze. With a small chuckle, he says, “Always so tightly wound. Don’t worry, I locked it.”

“Won’t- won’t that be more suspicious?” Jon says, his face coloring slightly.

Tim hums. “Eh. You’re the boss, you tell me.” Then, his face splits in a grin. “Wait. Do you _want_ it unlocked?”

Jon sputters _no_ and _ridiculous_ , but Tim presses on, “Oh, you _do!_ You like the idea of someone _walking in!_ ” He presses a closed-mouth kiss to Jon’s lips to stop his stream of protests. “Kinky,” he murmurs against Jon’s lips. “Who knew Jonathan Sims was a bit of an exhibitionist?”

“I am no _ohhh_.”

Jon’s protest is cut short by Tim’s mouth, latching onto the side of his neck, just shy of his collarbone. It’s a bit of tongue, a bit of teeth, a bit of _sucking_ , and Jon’s hands scrabble at Tim’s sides. “They’ll _see_ ,” he bites out, and he can feel Tim’s lips curl into a smile.

“Probably. Do you want me to stop?”

“Christ, don’t you _dare._ ”

Tim leaves a trail of bitten, reddening marks down the side of Jon’s neck and under the collar of his shirt, now unbuttoned and half-hanging off his arms. It’s a _lot_ , and it overwhelms Jon’s senses, and it’s so _nice._

Maybe it _would_ be nice, he’d thought as he’d gotten off the tube with Tim a few months after that initial conversation and they’d begun to make their way back to his house. Doing… more than kissing.

It wasn’t like he didn’t have libido. He hadn’t, for a long time, but sometime in the middle of his relationship with Georgie, he’d begun to _feel_ it. Not a lot, and not often, and never directed toward anyone in particular, but it was there. But he’d already had the conversation with Georgie about his asexuality, and she’d said she was fine with keeping their relationship strictly romantic, and that was that, and he felt a bit awkward bringing it up again. And then their relationship became strictly platonic, and he didn’t have a reason to anymore.

His relationship with Tim wasn’t strictly platonic. It wasn’t like they were dating either. They were just… existing within each other. And sometimes that involved going out for dinner, or kissing in between conversations, or curling up in the same bed and breathing in Tim’s honeysuckle-scented shampoo.

He hadn’t lied to Tim, before. Sex was just… neutral for him, now. Like baking a cake. He could do it, and he would enjoy it (he thought; he really had no basis for _like_ or _dislike_ when it came to this particular area outside of the realm of his own imagination). He could just as easily not, and he wouldn’t feel like he was missing anything.

He didn’t feel any particular inclination to ask, that day. Not any more than any other day. But Tim always emphasized open and honest communication, and Jon was really, really trying to improve in that particular area. So, as soon as they crossed the threshold into Tim’s house, Jon took a breath and said, “I want to talk about sex.”

Tim nearly slammed his fingers in the door as it closed too-fast behind him. “Uh,” he said eloquently. “O- okay? You- you know you don’t have to—“

“Yeah, I.” Jon swallowed. “I know. I want to. I- I think perhaps we should sit and discuss it more? I- I think I could be clearer regarding. Um. My preferences.”

Tim sat on the couch, and after a moment’s pause, Jon sat next to him, their knees just barely brushing. “Okay,” Tim says softly. “I’m listening.”

“Jon, are you listening?” Tim asks now, a playful smirk on his lips. “I’m asking you if—“

“Yes, yes,” Jon bites out, maybe a bit too harshly, but his mind isn’t quite at 100% right now. “Uh, green light.”

Tim’s lips meet his at the same time that Tim’s hand brushes, almost teasingly, against his dick, and Tim swallows Jon’s gasp with a smooth motion of his mouth against Jon’s. It’s certainly not the first time that Tim’s touched him; that time had been in the comfort of a dark bedroom, with whispered questions and reassurances and a tentative caution that Jon had both appreciated and pushed against. The light touches here aren’t a result of caution, however, and Jon’s suspicions are confirmed when Tim retracts his hand and slides it under the hem of Jon’s shirt, effectively untucking the remainder of it from Jon’s trousers and providing absolutely no resistance as the shirt slips off Jon’s shoulders altogether, crumpling on the ground.

“That’s going to wrinkle,” Jon says with a detached concern, and Tim groans against his lips.

“Can you _not_ —“ A hand, against his dick. “—be a stuffy academic—“ Fingers, deftly unzipping and undoing buttons. “—for _five minutes?_ ”

Jon barely manages to say, “You _like_ the fact that I’m a stuffy academic,” before Tim’s hand settles on thin cloth covering sensitive skin, and the end of the sentence turns into a gasp of air.

“Hmm,” Tim says, and he _refuses to move_ , applying the lightest pressure, and it’s driving Jon a little insane. “Perhaps. Maybe,” he says, twitching his fingers slightly in a way that makes Jon squirm, “I also think that _Head Archivist_ is a bit hotter job title than _Researcher._ ” He ducks his head and presses a soft, lingering kiss to Jon’s jaw, just below his ear. Then, barely more than a whisper: “But right now, you should just _relax._ ”

Then, the cloth is gone and Tim’s hand is wrapped firmly around the exposed skin of Jon’s dick, and Jon _gasps._ A small whine escapes his lips as Tim strokes him slowly, leisurely, like he’s taking his own advice. “You’re so pretty,” Tim says softly, and his free hand—still tangled in Jon’s hair—gives a little _tug_ that draws an aborted moan out of Jon’s mouth. “Still okay?”

“Y- yes, _please_ — _oh!_ ”

Tim’s lower hand twists just so, and Jon immediately loses the ability to form the rest of whatever he was planning to say. Probably to form any coherent thought at all. Tim does it again, a bit firmer, and Jon’s hands grip Tim’s shoulders tightly.

A single thought manages to slip through; a memory. An instruction.

Like a dancer following choreographed steps, Jon’s hands wander lower, even as Tim’s hand continues to move in ways that stall his hands and draw high, needy wines from his throat that he probably should be embarrassed about but really can’t find it within him to be at the moment.

Jon’s hands slip underneath Tim’s shirt, ghosting over soft brown skin, and Tim shivers. “Christ, your hands are cold,” he says, and his voice is low and breathy, which makes a small wave of fondness curl within Jon’s chest. It always does: this subtle reminder that Tim, too, can be undone.

He keeps his hands there, fingers gripping Tim’s sides as Tim’s hand picks up speed, as Tim continues to murmur his affections and praise like a prayer. A particularly skilled twist of Tim’s hand makes a small cry slip from Jon’s mouth, and he feels heat coil within him. “Tim, I- Christ, I’m going to—“

Tim captures his mouth in a kiss as Jon lets go, his small _ohs_ and _fucks_ captured by those lips that Jon often finds himself staring at, quite by accident. Tim’s hand works him through the orgasm, stilling as Jon taps two fingers on his skin—a wordless _no more, thank you._ Jon’s still breathing heavily as Tim peels away from him and returns moments later with a tissue. Still, Jon’s hands immediately seek out the warmth of Tim’s skin again, this time on the sides of his face, and he rubs small circles into Tim’s cheekbones with his thumbs.

“Good?” Tim asks, his voice rough and low, and Jon presses a soft kiss to his lips.

“Always,” he says, his voice equally as low. And then, because the dance isn’t quite finished yet, he sinks to his knees.

He’d outlined, back in those early years of their relationship, his boundaries. Some edges are hard and unyielding. Absolutes. Some lines are malleable, changing in ways that can be communicated on a case-by-case basis. Like: he generally prefers giving rather than receiving, but not always. (Case in point, he supposes.) Or: he typically prefers using his hands, but sometimes, he wants… something else.

This is the latter.

Tim’s hands flatten against the wall behind him, and a small, hitched gasp escapes him as Jon begins to work methodically at his button and zipper. “Oh, Jesus. A- are you sure? You don’t- nng!”

The trousers solidly undone and pushed down around Tim’s knees, Jon’s hand brushes against Tim’s dick, and Tim’s sentence cuts off with a groan. “Yes,” Jon says, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of Tim’s thigh. _God, I love him._

Huh. They’ve never said that before. Jon files that away for later and says, “I wouldn’t do anything I didn’t want to do. Are- are you okay with…?”

“God, yes,” Tim says quickly, a hand moving from the wall to brush against Jon’s cheek. “You… god, you’re _perfect._ ”

That sends a lovely spiral of warmth through Jon’s body, and he wastes no time in removing Tim’s pants and taking him in his mouth.

“Ohhh my god,” Tim moans, and the hand on Jon’s cheek instinctively moves to Jon’s hair. “You- ah! You’re amazing, you know that? Imagine if you— _fuck_ —if you used that mouth like this all the time, instead of— _oh my **god**_ —ordering us around all day.”

Jon makes a sound with the back of his throat that might be a grumble or might be a moan. It’s really anyone’s guess which one it is. He’s never understood the dirty talk that Tim loves to use so much, but that doesn’t mean that those words, spoken in the low, rough voice Tim uses when he’s coming undone, don’t make something within Jon _shudder._ Either way, the noise elicits one in kind from Tim, and the hand in his hair _tugs_ , and Jon had never known he would like that until Tim, but he does. He really, really does.

It’s a bit of a game, really. Seeing what noises Jon can draw out of Tim’s pretty, swollen mouth. He moves his tongue in a certain way, then another, and _another_ that draws a string of curses from Tim’s mouth. He does that one again, adding a twist of his hand around the base of Tim’s dick as he does so, and the curses dissolve into a low moan that Jon recognizes as Tim’s way of saying _yes, that’s it, right there._ It’s really not long at all before Tim’s stammering out, “Jon, I’m gonna- ah, _fuck_ , just—“ and Jon removes his mouth and replaces it fully with a hand. A few more firm strokes and Tim’s coming, his lips forming a string of _oh god, fuck, Jon, please, I love you._

It’s not until Jon’s stood, his joints cracking in a way that makes him wince, and returned with a clean tissue that he registers what Tim said. By the look on Tim’s face, it had taken him much less time than Jon; his cheeks are flushed, dark enough that it stands out prominently against his honey-brown skin, but his eyes are fixed on Jon with an intensity that Jon doesn’t think he’s ever seen in them before.

“Oh,” Jon says. Not his most eloquent response, but he’s still running the words over and over in his mind. He thought he might have to smooth them, to make them fit within the relationship they’ve already built—perhaps even to fit within his own definition of love, as yet unspoken. But they slot neatly into place, and it makes something light and entirely unfamiliar bubble up within Jon’s chest.

“I meant it, you know,” Tim says. “I- I love you.”

Jon takes a few steps forward and kisses Tim, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. They’re still in various states of undress, physically exposed, but he’s never felt so _safe._ “Yeah,” he says, pulling back just enough that the words are audible. “Yeah, I- I love you too.” It’s hard to get out—not because he doesn’t mean it, but because he _does._ It somehow feels more intimate than anything that had just transpired, and Jon’s instinct is to flinch away, to hide, but he doesn’t want to. Not when it’s Tim.

Tim makes a joke about _took us long enough_ , and Jon grumbles something about _when the timing is right_ , and they sit there for a while so that when they leave they don’t look utterly debauched. And it’s not perfect. But it’s perfectly lovely.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> find me on tumblr [@bluejayblueskies](https://bluejayblueskies.tumblr.com/)


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